


Our First Defeat

by ProblematicFavesAreProblematic (SaritaNotSerena)



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort Sex, F/M, Feels, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, Library Sex, Love Confessions, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Tension, Wall Sex, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:09:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29235840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaritaNotSerena/pseuds/ProblematicFavesAreProblematic
Relationships: Lewis Nixon/Katherine Nixon, Lewis Nixon/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	1. You've Cut Me to the Bone

Say what you wanted to about Doris and Stan Nixon, but they sure threw one hell of a party.

Waiters in sharp suits, sparkling crystal glasses filled with golden champagne, marble floors polished to a near reflective shine- nothing but the _very best_ for the engagement party for Mrs. Nixon’s baby boy.

If your heart hadn’t already become calloused from heartbreak, you probably would burst into tears.

You’d known the Nixons all of your life, and with Nixon being a year and a half your senior and his younger sister being three years your junior, the three of you had little choice to become anything other than close. Even when Lewis had grown old enough to get sick of girls and their games of dress up and make-believe, you and he still managed to get along.

You were both the oldest children in your families, and for a while you had also attended the same advanced reading course offered by your private elementary school’s librarian. Your shared love of books had bonded you nearly as much as your shared birth orders, and it wasn’t uncommon for your parents to find you both nose deep in one of your father’s large tomes of mythology.

It surprised no one that the two of you became close as you got older. 

What did strike both of your families as odd was just how _close_ you two stayed- especially when you both started attending your respective boy’s and girl’s boarding schools. You’d been each other’s penpals, school dance dates, and summer trip companions.

After your Junior prom, you’d lost your virginities to each other after polishing off two bottles of lethally strong port wine. Nixon, sex-drunk and just plain old _drunk_ -drunk, had insisted that he’d done ‘ _other things_ ’ with girls- that he wasn’t _really_ a virgin but he’d yet to actually do the act. 

As if he was worried that you’d make fun of him.

As if you’d think less of him for it.

Of course, things had changed once college came around.

He became busy with his studies, and you had thrown yourself into attaining your nursing credentials. He’d gotten a fair share of girlfriends and you’d had a few relationships of your own.

When your families would get together for holidays and birthdays, the two of you would inevitably sneak off and fuck until one of you decided that someone was going to notice your absences.

Then, after rejoining everyone else for an appropriately deemed amount of time, you’d rush off again to repeat the cycle. Sex with Lewis was everything you’d been told you shouldn't want- hard and desperate and just left of dirty but God did you love it. You loved the way your bodies fit together, the way his breath felt on your neck as he held onto you so tightly that you thought he might leave bruises. The way he kissed you as if he were drinking the air from your lungs, like he needed your lips in order to _breathe_ , to _live._

More than anything, you loved the ease that existed between you two- the way you both helped the other redress and how he would take your face in his hands and call you sweet things as he gave you languid kisses before giving you a wicked grin and guiding you both back to the party.

It wasn’t ideal, and more often than not you’d feel hollow again after a few days, but your trysts with Lew were the closest thing you had to a consistent relationship.

When Pearl Harbor happened, you’d made the decision to enlist as a field nurse. Nixon had begun to attend an Officer’s school, so you’d already started to resign yourself to the fact that this fling of yours could never be anything more than just that, a fling. Apparently he had, too.

You’d felt like you had been punched in the stomach when you heard about Katherine.

He hadn’t even told you that he was seriously seeing someone, let alone considering marrying anyone.

It had hurt more than you wanted to admit.

How you managed to keep a straight face when his mother proudly told you and your mother about the engagement, you’ll never know.

All you did know was that he’d made a choice, and it wasn’t you.

And you had to get over it.

Even so, it had still taken both your mother _and_ your father to convince you to come to this party tonight. Your brother and sister had been allowed to stay home- _they_ were still considered too young to attend such frivolous events. 

Lucky bastards.

But you’d let your mother dress you in a velvet gown of indigo-violet decorated with rhinestones across the bodice and sleeves, allowed your younger sister to braid your hair in a halo around your head (despite your mother’s plea for you to wear it in a more fashionable and mature style) and even gotten a grumble of a compliment from your sulking teenage brother and greeted the Nixon’s with the same amount of warmth you always had.

If nothing else, finishing school had taught you well when it came to hiding your true feelings.

Katherine was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen, her hair shiny and her skin perfect and her body curvy and tight in all the right places. Her sky blue dress draped across her form perfectly, as if it had been made for her.

Her hands were graceful and delicate- the perfect canvas for the huge diamond ring Nix had bestowed upon her.

To make matters worse? You _liked_ her.

She was smart and well-spoken, with a habit of interrupting someone mid-sentence but that wasn’t enough to make you dislike her.

“Lew’s sung your praises for years,” Katherine had smiled smally after you’d introduced yourself to her. “it’s wonderful to finally put a face to the name….”

“It’s all lies, most likely,” you assured with a grin, a sudden realization hitting you. “Speaking of Little Lew—”

Katherine rolls her eyes and offers a conspiratory whisper.

“Pretty sure he’s stress smoking somewhere upstairs. I’ve been trying to get him to quit—”

You snort at that. “Then you are far braver than most, and you have my respect.”

You look over your shoulder, frowning as you took in the scene.

Turning back to Katherine, you give her a nod.

“I’ll hurry him along,” you murmur softly. “Drag him down by the ear if I’ve got to—”

“Consider my respect earned in kind, then.”

Sharing a smile, you politely excuse yourself and slip away up the stairs.

You had a feeling that you knew exactly where Nix was hiding.

~

The formal library was dark wood and warm leather, with deep seats and cigar smoke stained books that sat on shelves so high that even the tallest man needed to utilize the built-in ladder to reach the top.

As children, you and Lewis had spent countless hours reading of far-away lands and exotic adventures, darting back and forth between whatever book you’d decided on and the grand globe by the window to trace your fingers over countries neither of you would probably ever actually visit.

This room held your sweetest memories, as well as some of your racier ones.

Finding Lewis in here was only fitting.

He looked unbearably handsome- sat on the windowsill with the wind fluttering his hair across his forehead while the moon lit up his profile and made him look like some exquisite marble statue.

The cigarette between his lips reminded you of all the times he’d smoke after fucking you, the way he’d exhale the smoke into your parted lips before kissing you so deeply your toes would curl.

_“I could get used to this,” he’d said, after one of your last trysts._

_“What, smoking yourself to death in your dad’s library?”_

_He’d shot you a glare before attacking your neck with kisses that left you giggling from how they tickled your skin._

_“_ **_No_ ** _, Smartass,” Lewis said as he nudged your nose with his, a lazy smile clear on his face when he lifted his head away from you enough to meet your eyes. “_ **_This_ ** _, with_ **_you_ ** _. Not having to rush off before your mom comes looking for you. It’s nice….”_

That felt like a lifetime ago.

“If you frown at the moon any longer,” you call out, smirking at the way he startles before realizing it’s just you. “You’re gonna get a wrinkle before all the wedding photos.”

He shoots you a look, shaking his head before turning to stub out the cigarette in the silver ashtray.

“Not even gonna lull me into a false sense of security before giving me shit, huh?”

With a practiced ease, he gently slides the window back into place and locks it, fanning the lingering wafts of smoke from around his face before turning to fully face you.

A familiar smile crosses his face that has you rolling your eyes.

“Well, I’ve gotta get all I can out of my system- now that you’ve gone and _replaced_ me.”

With another withering look, Lew comes up and kisses your cheek before wrapping an arm around your shoulders and another around your waist to lower you into a dipped hug.

“ _Hey now_ ,” he grumbles into the shell of your ear, his breath tickling your neck and causing you to shiver. “I think you’re underestimating your talents if you think _anyone_ can fling smartass comments my way better than you- _oh_!”

Twisting you back up so you’re both standing, he pushes the door to the library closed to get to the bookshelf behind it. 

With curiosity, you watch him pull a book from the shelf and present it to you with a flourish.

“A gift for you, my lady.”

Rolling your eyes, you take the book in your hands and peer at the cover.

You recognize the title immediately as a Poirot mystery, a grin breaking across your lips as you realize it’s one of your favorites- a collection of short stories featuring the Belgian detective and Captain Hastings.

As you open the book, you suck in a breath when you see the scrawl of Agatha Christie’s signature across the title page, and upon further inspection, you realize it’s a first edition.

“Holy shit, Lew…” you whisper, running your fingertip across the indents in the paper her heavy-handed scrawl. “Where’d this come from? How’d you know….?”

Looking up at Lewis again, you are slightly embarrassed by the amused expression on his face, deciding to look back down rather than acknowledge how clearly he was watching your reaction.

“ _Well_ ,” he begins, stepping behind you to squeeze your shoulders. “It came from a _bookshop_ , believe it or not—”

“ _Lewis_ —”

“And as for the _how_ ….Blanche told me in one of her letters.”

That gives you pause again- the reminder that you and he hadn’t written anything to each other in quite some time.

Clearing your throat, you set the book down on one of the desks and bring a hand up to rest over one of his. “That’s very….. _thank you_.”

You feel him press a quick peck to the crown on your head, something you were fine with until you left the pressure of his lips lingering there.

“I hope, uh…hoped you’d also take it as a sort of, er- peace offering, of sorts….”

You feel your shoulders tense at that. The blood in your veins suddenly feels cold and dead.

You’d hoped he wouldn’t do anything like this- wouldn’t bring any of this up.

“I’m sure I don't know what you’re talking about—”

“ _Yes you do._ ”

Sucking in a sharp breath through your nose, you turn around to face him. 

“There’s nothing to offer peace for,” it’s taking more effort than you like to keep your voice even. “What you do with your life is none of my business.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that you should’ve heard about it from _me_ ,” he says quietly, and as his breath fans across your face you can pick up the sweet bite of whiskey beneath the smell of cigarette smoke. “That was….I should’ve been the one to tell you—”

“I don’t see why you felt you had to.” You give him a tight smile, working hard to keep yourself from scowling. “It’s not like we made any promises to each other….which I thought was the whole appeal of me, if I’m being honest.”

Lewis brings his hands up to brush against your jaw, the unexpectedly soft touch making you shudder before you can stop yourself

“You’ve got to have known that I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, Y/N—”

“ _Don’t say that_ ,” you hiss under your breath, biting the insides of your lip and shaking your head. “That’s unfair, you can’t do this- it’s _wildly unfair_ to Katherine, it’s not fair to _me—_ ”

Lewis scoffed at that, a rueful smirk twisting his face as he let his eyes trail down your face.

“‘ _Unfair’..._.what’s unfair is asking me to go down there and pretend like everything’s hunky-dory when _you’re_ _here_ , looking like everything I’ve ever wanted in my _goddamned_ life and expecting _me_ to act like I wasn’t wishing _you_ were on my arm instead—”

“Jesus _Christ_ , Lewis, that’s _enough—_ ” you cross your arms across your chest as you step back out of his touch and turn to look at the wall of books. “ _What’s the matter with you?_ I’ve always known you could be an asshole, but this is cruel, even for you—”

“How am I being an asshole?” he snaps, taking your shoulders and turning you back to face him, his frown deep and imploring. “Because I’m being honest? _Huh_ ? ‘Cause I’m telling you _the truth—?_ ”

“Because you’re telling me the truth _now_ !” you say venomously, letting your own face morph into a scowl. “ _Tonight_ , the fucking night where we’re all here to celebrate _you and Katherine_ getting married! You can’t just expect me to _not_ respect that—”

“What if I told you I didn’t even want to marry her—?”

“ _Lower your voice!_ ”

You don’t realize how close you’ve gotten to each other until you accidentally scuff your toes against the side of his polished shoe, something that shocks you out of your anger like a cold splash of water.

His cheeks are rosy with both drink and frustration, and you’re pretty sure that your face is flushed as well. Closing your eyes, you sigh and hang your head.

“If you didn’t want this,” you say a bit more calmly. “Then why did you ask her in the first place?”

You startle slightly at the feeling of him taking your hand, opening your eyes to watch him bring it to his clean-shaven cheek and hold it there. His eyes look tired, sad almost.

“Because I’m being shipped out soon,” he sighs heavily, twisting his head enough to press a kiss to your palm as the air whooshes out of your lungs in a pained sigh. “Because it’s what’s expected of me.”

Meeting your hesitant gaze, he offers a sad little smile and a shrug.

“ _Because it couldn’t be you, I didn’t really care who it was—_ ” 

Quickly, you take back control of the hand he’s holding and put your fingertips gently over his lips, your throat feeling tight at the admission.

“ _Don’t_ ,” you whisper shakily. “Don’t finish that sentence….”

Taking your hand again, he moves it away from his mouth.

“Why not?” he says back just as quietly, eyes scanning your face. _“Am I being an asshole?_ ”

You shake your head, chest tightening as you take in his confession. “ _You’re breaking my heart all over again_.”

He nods, his jaw clenching as he studies you. “I keep doing that, don’t I?”

When you don’t show any sign of amusement at his comment, he encourages you to wrap an arm around his neck as he pulls you into another borderline inappropriate embrace. A hug that was better suited for two lovers rather than two friends grieving a future that was entirely hypothetical.

His lips press to the side of your throat, inhaling the smell of your skin deeply and slowly.

“ _I don’t mean to,_ ” he whispers, splaying his large hand across the small of your back. “I _really_ want you to know that.”

You stay silent, focusing all of your energy into not crying.

Even if he had asked you to marry him, you would’ve had to say no.

Married women were unwelcome in all branches of military nursing- and you had worked too hard to ever consider giving that dream up.

Not even for Lewis Nixon….although you probably would’ve thought about it harder.

“ _I sometimes wish we’d never kissed,_ ” you say with emotion in your voice, letting him hold you even closer at your hushed admission. “I wish I didn’t care about you, then we wouldn’t have to _be like this…_ ”

“I _don’t_ ,” he mumbled against your skin. “I wouldn’t take _any_ of this back- even if I could.”

You shake your head sadly as you bring your other arm around his shoulders to more fully embrace him.

“That’s because you’re a masochist _almost_ as much as you are a sadist—”

He groans at that, taking his face from your neck to press his cheek against yours.

“I knew getting you those Freud books was a mistake….”

This time you allow yourself to sigh a laugh. “Only because they seem to hit the nail on the head when it comes to explaining why you are how you are.”

“An asshole?”

“ _Yeah_ , Lew.” you gently break free of his embrace and smooth your hands down the front of his tuxedo- straightening his bowtie on the way. “Now you’re getting it.”

He looks as if he’s going to say something else, but you force a smile on your face and shake your head.

“C’mon, Mr. Nixon,” you say with a nod. “Your public awaits you. Best not keep them waiting.”

“ _Y/N_ —” He calls as you turn on your heel and walk to open the door.

“I’ll see you down there, Lewis.”

With that admonishing reminder, you open the door and hurry to find the restroom in order to collect yourself.

Dinner was going to be hell.

~

Of course, Doris sat you beside where Lewis was seated in the middle of the table- Katherine on his left and you on his right.

“ _Surrounded by his favorite girls,_ ” Mrs. Nixon had cooed, standing behind Lewis’s chair and squeezing his shoulders excitedly. _“What a lucky man you are….”_

They had only just served the soup and already you wanted to crawl out of your skin.

The only things that saved you were wine and the endless stream of one-sided conversation from Katherine’s young cousin Marcus, who sat to your right.

He couldn’t have been more than sixteen- eyes wide and battle-hungry as he prattled on about the training courses he planned on enrolling in so that he could go to Japan and take revenge for the lives lost during Pearl Harbor. It served as a good distraction from the feeling of Lew’s eyes on your profile, silently begging you to turn and look at him.

You didn’t give in.

Marcus’s heart was in the right place, and it wasn’t his fault that you were trying to drown your distress in the sea of white wine you were creating inside of your belly. 

But you had the feeling that if you had to listen to any more talk of what his brother had told him about the Navy and how prestigious their ships were, you were going to smack your head against the table until you passed out.

The only person who seemed to pick up on your distress was Lewis, and right now you were pretty committed to ignoring his attempts of conversation- hoping that by doing so you were strong-arming him into _actually_ talking to Katherine, who was being so charming and well mannered that you felt like you were suffocating.

As you brought your fourth glass of wine to your lips, Lew decided to speak rather than just look.

“Think maybe you should slow down, Y/N?” Lewis says it quietly enough that only you and Katherine can hear him, and when you turn to face him you catch the sight of the other woman suppressing a chuckle into her glass of sparkling water. 

A drop of resentment stains your previously high regard for her- her slight amusement being amplified to condescension in your current bitter state.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, Little Lewie,” you say with a light slur in your voice- one that only those who truly knew you would be able to detect. 

As a child, you’d had a slight speech impediment that you’d grown out of with proper training and practice. It was only when you were overly tired or when you drank that it slipped back into your speech.

You could feel that now, its presence heavy on your tongue.

“ _Just gettin’ it outta my system while I’ve still got the chance……_ ”

When you're able to find his eyes with your own, you see the concern shining in them and suddenly feel like you want to cry. 

You can’t help but think that this could’ve been yours- your engagement party, your future.

You’d say that the ring on Katherine’s finger could’ve been yours as well, but if you were being honest you found it too gaudy and flashy for your taste.

Lewis probably would’ve known that, too….would’ve chosen something significantly smaller and much more simple to present to you while down on one knee.

_But he’s not mine, should’ve stopped thinking of him as mine a long time ago._

Without another word to him you slid your chair back from the table and stood, nodding appreciatively to the butler who instantly appeared to scoot the chair back into place.

Your mother, who was sitting closer to the door, gave you a worried look as you made to walk past her, silently asking if you were alright.

With a smile that didn’t reach your eyes, you gently placed your hand on her shoulder in false reassurement that you were just fine. You mouth the word _‘bathroom’_ , as you passed her and exited the dining room.

How you managed not to run up the staircase in search of somewhere you could let your mask of contentment fall away, you have no idea.

But you did. Your finishing school teachers would’ve been proud.

Rushing through the library you knew better than the back of your hand, you quickly found the small, slightly hidden room behind a sculpture that held all the wealth of paper and writing supplies.

The door barely shuts behind you before you suck in a shaking breath, face hot with tears you were refusing to shed. Each exhale sounds as if it’s being punched out of you, hands reaching out into the dark to feel for the wall so you can find the small footstool to sit upon.

You were right, you couldn’t do this.

It was too much, despite how desperately you’d tried to callous over the raw part of your heart that still ached for him. Resting your head in your hands, you try to slow your breathing, to muffle to sobs begging to be freed from your chest.

The sound of the door clicking open has you shooting to your feet in surprise, the wine in your blood making itself known as you teeter slightly and you have to brace your hand against the wall to steady yourself.

The snap of the light being turned on makes you squint at the sudden brightness, the sight of Lewis breathing heavily as he leans against the door to close it behind him making your heart race even faster.

“ _You shouldn’t-_ ” you have to sniff quickly before finishing your admonishment. “You _really_ shouldn’t be here, Lewis.” 

He nods, his Adam's apple jumping in his throat as he swallows, eyes trailing up and down your body. “ _I know._ ”

Even as he says it, Lewis starts walking towards you. “I should _go…_.”

Your own breathing has become deep and heavy, lips parted to accommodate the sudden desperate need for more air in your lungs.

Mind having failed you, you search for the right words to send him away- to tell him that what’s about to happen is wrong and that you’re just making it harder on yourselves in the long run.

But all you can think as he reaches you, his hands coming up to hold your face with an unmistaken intention, is that you are going to _explode_ if he doesn’t kiss you right now.

Lucky for you, his thoughts seem to be similarly inclined.

He kisses you so hard that you think your lips will bruise, his hands pulling your face so desperately close that his eyelashes tickle your cheeks as his eyes squeeze shut.

As you moan somewhere deep in your throat, Lewis opens his mouth to swallow the sound. His hair is soft in your hands, your fingers fisting and pulling at it until he makes a groan of his own.

You allow yourself to rise up on your toes to make his head tilt back slightly, gasping into his lips when he suddenly uses his grip on your face to pull your mouth back from his.

He licks his bottom lip, whispering your name so you open your eyes and look at him with a heavy-lidded gaze.

“I-I don’t want to go without _one_ _more…_.” he seems to be at a loss for words, which for Lewis Nixon is truly unusual. But you think you can read his frustrated silence.

Your eyes search his dark ones, uncurling your fists from his roots to bring your thumbs to his forehead and smooth the concerned furrow in his brow.

“ _Okay_ ,” you whisper, coming down off of your toes to brush your nose against his. “Then _do it_.”

As if your words were a racing gun’s shot, Lewis hungrily kisses you again- backing you up against the wall and clutching at you with carnal desperation.

You lose yourself in his fervor, scratching your nails down the back of his neck just shy of leaving a mark and moving to loosen his bowtie.

He catches your hands and pins them beside your head, squeezing them in a silent request to keep them there. You nod into the kiss, gasping for breath when he tears his mouth from yours and drops to his knees before you.

Looking down your body at him, you pant lewdly as you watch his hands disappear beneath the skirt of your dress and hurriedly pull your underpants down around your ankles. 

The only patience he shows is in his careful assistance of helping your step out of them, but then he is immediately returning to his pilgrimage to the warm place between your thighs- bunching the deep violet-blue fabric in one fist while his other hand encourages your thigh up and over his shoulder.

He kisses you down there just as thoroughly as he had your mouth, licking the hot petals greedily to part the way to your clit before attacking it noisily and skillfully. Your head makes a dull sound as it lolls back to hit the wall, your hips surging forward at the gentle and unintentional scrape of his teeth against the soft flesh.

In an apologetic motion, the hand holding your dress beside your waist rubbing its thumb soothingly across your side. 

You allow one of your hands to drop from beside your head to rest over his, your sigh of forgiveness getting lost in a breathy keen of pleasure.

“ _Shit_ ,” you sigh, bowing your head forward to watch him look up at you from between your legs. “Jesus _Christ_ , Lewis!”

Rather than take his mouth from you to reply, he elects to moan into your sex, the vibration striking somewhere deep inside of you that has your thighs quaking. Your eyes drift closed as he continues to suckle on you, the sound of him inhaling sharply through his nose making you feel dizzy with heady desire.

It had been almost a year since he’d last gone down on you- only because that was the last time you were afforded enough time for such foreplay. 

And he’d only gotten better at it.

With careful yet distracted motions, he maneuvers the hand covering his so you are now holding your skirt up and out of the way for him. You open your eyes at the same moment you feel his fingers curl inside of you, an airy mewl slipping past your lips before you can stop it.

“ _I’m gonna cum,_ ” you mumble stupidly down at him, finally bringing your other hand down to fist in his hair again as you begin to see the white-hot orgasm creeping into the sides of your vision. “Too soon…. _I’m sorry, it’s too soon—!_ ”

His intentional humming around your bud paired with the cruelly perfect crook of his fingers sends your careening over the precipice of pleasure.

Your body shakes and your hips buck uncontrollably as he refuses to relent his near _fervent_ milking of your orgasm.

You keep expecting him to stop, to pull away from you and start to seek his own release. 

But he just doesn’t stop.

“What’re you doing?” you ask brokenly, keening into another moan as he slips one more finger inside of you. “Get up here and— _ohhh!_ ”

“ _Again_ , “ you hear him grunt into you with a near frantic tone. “Give me one more….”

You’re absolutely lost as he ushers you into another orgasm, mouth feeling dry from the open mouth panting you’ve had to resort to in order to remain lucid.

“ _I need you_ ,” you whimper pathetically, your eyes open and unseeing as you gasp for breath in a vain attempt at cooling the fire burning in your body. “ _Please_ , I _need_ you inside me…. _please_ , _Lewis_!”

It feels like he’s only just unsealed his lips from your sex when suddenly his tongue is in your mouth and his hand is cupped around the back of your head, kissing you languidly as your thrumming ears pick up on the soft sounds of fabric being untucked and trousers being shoved open and down.

Before you can manage to find the coordination to bring your hands down to help him free his cock, you feel him bringing the same thigh that had been over his shoulder up to hook around his hip.

With a familiarity that aches in both your heart and your core, you wrap your arm around his shoulders and nod into the kiss, just as you had that first time in your dorm room after the night of your Junior prom.

After one more soft peck, Lewis sheaths himself fully inside of you.

Your face twists at the abrupt fullness that stretches your sex to the sweet-stinging point that you ache for more often than you liked to admit, eyes flashing open in euphoric alarm as the man you’d loved since you were fifteen fucked into you with a punishing pace.

Apparently, he was just as desperate for you as you had been for him.

It’s now _he_ who is making desperate noises that have to be muffled, his face buried into the slope where your shoulder meets your neck. 

At some point, he’s managed to undo the button at the top of the back of your dress, nosing the fabric around your collarbones open so he can latch his lips to the flesh at the curve of your shoulder- worrying at the skin with tongue, teeth, and lips.

If you were in a teasing mood, you’d accuse him of having an oral fixation. 

Lewis would make another comment about how much he regretted giving you the books by Sigmund Freud. 

You’d try to offer some witty retort, only to be cut off by him pinching at your clit and biting at your lip.

It was so _easy_ , everything with him just felt so _good_ and _comfortable_ and warmly _familiar_.

As if he can hear your thoughts, he presses his temple to yours so his lips are at your ear.

“ _It_ **_should_ ** _be you,_ ” he nearly whines. “ _I’ve only ever wanted_ **_you—_ **”

The sob that bursts past your lips is so bitter and childish that even Lewis seems to notice through his haze, pulling his head back in time to catch sight of the tears rolling down your cheeks.

“ _I’m sorry,_ ” he grunts as he kisses the tears off of your skin. “ _I love you and I’m sorry.”_

Just as your first moan had been, your first deep sob is captured by his mouth. Your lips are salty and you can feel from _his_ shaking lips that he’s struggling to keep his own upset at bay.

The hand that was holding your thigh wraps around it to press a thumb against your clit, and you can’t stop the stream of babbling that follows the movement.

You can’t shut up about how much you love him and how angry you are with him and how badly you wished things were different.

“I _know_ ,” he mumbles to each admonishment and devotion you utter, his voice becoming tight as you intentionally squeeze down on him with everything that you’d got. “ _I know, I know, Please love me anyway, I know.”_

It’s the sound of Lewis coming undone that sends you into your second orgasm, holding on for dear life as he brokenly thrusts into you a few more times before yanking himself away to spill himself onto the wall beside you- bracing his arm there as you blindly reach down to stroke him as well.

You both stand there, breathing as if you’d both just sprinted across the fields behind his house.

Using the wall as a support, you turn to face him and press your forehead to his sweaty temple, the hand of the arm against the wall moving to rest atop your head as he shudders and stills in your hand.

“ _Good_ ,” you breathlessly praise him as you gently release his cock. “So _fucking_ good….”

As you bring your hand to your mouth to suck it clean, Lewis curses lowly as his eyes follow the movement, like you’ve hurt him somehow.

Before you can reach your hand down to get more, Nix grabs your wrist and holds it in the air.

“ _Don’t you dare,_ ” he whooshes out with an exhale, turning his head to kiss you deeply enough that you know he can taste himself. “I’m gonna fucking cum again if you do shit like that…”

You give him a small smile, pecking a quicker kiss on his lips.

“Didn’t think you’d be open to letting me lick it from you directly.”

His wicked smile is lazy, wrapping his arm around your waist as you make to push yourself away and twisting your bodies so he’s now the one leaning against the wall with you pressed against him.

‘ _Not yet,_ ” he pleads into the crook of your neck. “ _Please_ , not just yet.”

And, because you’re a terrible and weak person, you stay.

When his fingers start to undo the buttons holding your dress together in the back, you shake your head.

“One more,” he murmurs as your dress starts to fall loose around your shoulders. “Just _once_ _more…_.”

Despite knowing how much you’re going to hate yourself for doing so, you nod and lower your arms so your dress pools around your feet.

_“Okay,” you whisper. “Just once more.”_


	2. Knocks Me Off My Feet (D-Day)

“ _ Je _ sus  _ Christ… _ ” Dr. Edgar curses beside you, standing on top of the medic jeep and pointing his binoculars to the flashing sky. “ _ Look _ at all of em! Looks like angels,  _ falling _ from the sky—”

“And getting  _ dropped _ like flies,” you mumble ruefully, shaking your head to yourself as you scratched another line in your sketchbook, frowning to yourself as the dim light from the lantern flickers out again from a strong gust of wind. “Don’t remember  _ that _ happening in the bible…”

“Are you  _ sure _ you don’t want to see this, Y/L/N?” the doc continues as if you haven’t spoken, a deep wonder in his voice giving you the impression that he’s completely missed your pessimism. “The bullets look like...shooting stars? But in reverse?”   
  


With a roll of your eyes, you strike a match and relight the wick, careful to keep the flame low enough as to not break the light discipline.

“I don’t know why you seem so determined to romanticize this—”

“And  _ I _ don’t know why you seem so dead set on being so negative.”

Alright, so maybe he  _ had _ heard you earlier.

When you turn your head to look up at him, you see that he’s still watching the paratroopers fall from the sky. Casting your eyes upward, you can’t help but feel somewhat sick at the sound of thunderous booms of airborne explosives from the Germans and the shriek of US planes careening towards the earth.

You hated this, this horrible waiting period while the paratroopers landing, subduing the German guns, and giving the medics the okay to go and rescue those who hadn’t died in the terrible interim.

You hadn't worked your ass off for two years to be made to feel this useless.

You hadn’t given up a regular life to just watch hundreds of good men be shot down like clay pigeons.

“He’s right, you know,” Dorothy said from across the small table you’d situated yourself at, raising a pale brow at you when you’d turned back to shoot her a look. “You’re being much more cynical than usual.”

You snort a laugh at that bringing a hand to your chest in an act of faux hurt.

“And here I thought you  _ liked _ my cynicism—”

Dorothy’s nose wrinkled as she reached over and pinched your cheek condescendingly.

“Oh, angel, you  _ know _ I do!” she giggles as you bat her hand away with your hand good-naturedly. “But I haven’t seen you  _ this _ doom and gloom since you heard that they were going to start allowing married women into the nursing program….”

You have to bite the inside of your cheek in order not to grimace at the reminder, clearing your throat quickly before looking back down to your sketchbook.

You weren’t mad  _ at _ Dorothy, it wasn’t  _ her _ fault that you’d never told her about Lewis or any of the heartache that came with him. You were mad, however, at the fuckers in charge of changing the rule.

If only they’d decided to amend the rule a few years earlier, then maybe—

_ No. Stop that, Y/N. Don’t go there. _

Any thought of Lewis Nixon felt like a stab through the heart. It had taken you a  _ full year _ to even be able to read the letters he’d sent you since you’d arrived at Halloran General in New York to complete both your nursing credentials and training as a military field nurse. And even then, you’d cried like some lovesick teenager whenever he made any reference to how much he missed you or mentioned how unhappy he was with Katherine.

When he’d sent you a copy of a photo taken the night of his engagement party, you’d realized that you couldn’t reply to his letters anymore. It was unfair to indulge him, it was unfair for him to make you feel this terrible. 

It was most unfair to Katherine.

You’d broken your own rule only when you and the other nurses in your class were told that you all were being sent to England. Hours before you were expected to board your ship, you forced yourself to write him a quick note- hoping your reference to your childhood nicknames would convey just how much you cared for him.

_ “Dear Blackbeard- _

_ I’m being sent out, and I knew I couldn't go without telling you goodbye.  _

_ You are my dearest friend, the truest love who I have been fortunate enough to know. My grandfather gave me these words to remember while I’m gone, and I feel that they hold enough weight to be meaningful to you as well: _

**_Be brave. Stay safe. Come home again_ ** _. _

_ Thank you for all you’ve given me. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Your Wendy-bird _ ”

You’d given no address for him to write to, no indication of where you were heading or for how long.

It was the cleanest break you could think of- even though it hurt more than you could say.

You’d memorized the address where he was training, you’d known that he was a paratrooper.

And right now he was probably one of the falling angels in Doc Edgar’s binoculars.

_ “Y/N?” _

You jumped at the sound of your name, looking up again to see Dorothy’s prettily freckled face right before yours, her hand on your shoulder. You hadn’t even heard her get up, let alone touch you.

“Why don’t you go rest?” your friend said gently, her hands careful as they took your sketchbook out of your hands and replaced it into your duffle bag before doing the same with your pencil. “You’re asleep with your eyes open.”

You don’t correct her assessment, choosing rather to allow her to encourage you to stand and walk over to the bales of hay you all had laid blankets over earlier in a crude attempt at a bed.

As you let her lay you down, you offer her a half-hearted smile.

“ _ Thanks, Mom. _ ”

She rolls her eyes at that, the ends of her red hair tickling your cheek as she tosses your coat over you.

“You’re welcome,  _ Sweetie _ . Try not to wet the bed tonight?”

You snort at that, catching her wink before you watch her retreat towards the mouth of the barn and hold her hand out towards Dr. Edgar. As she is pulled up, you cannot help but feel happy for her.

She and Thomas Edgar may have thought that they were being subtle, but you’d caught enough lingering looks and prolonged touches between them to know that they had it  _ bad _ for each other.

You wondered if you and Lewis had been that obvious—

_ STOP IT. STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM. _

“Fuck,” you curse to yourself as you feel tears prick at your eyes, reaching a hand up to pinch at the bridge of your nose in a desperate attempt to suck them back into your head. “Goddamnit.”

It takes you a while to fall asleep, but when you do, it’s almost as if the sounds outside cease to exist.

~

The sight of the broken paratroopers handing from the tree has you wishing that you’d been more content with the idea of marrying rich and staying home.

These aren’t the first dead bodies you’ve seen today, not by a long shot. But they are the first ones to really get to you.

Tangled up in the wires of their parachutes, they remind you of your sister’s marionettes after your brother had gotten into them- strings knotted and their wooden limbs unnaturally bent.

You can’t help but stare, the shock of seeing these men’s-  _ boys’- _ broken bodies suspended from the tree limbs making your brain stall like a car’s engine. It was as if you couldn’t think of them as people when they were like this, when they were swaying with the breeze like the world’s most macabre windchimes.

It took you a few minutes to shake the fog of horror from your mind and get to work climbing the tree to cut them down. 

As you’d learned in New York, you allowed yourself to go numb inside- finding that when you did you were able to perform the job more efficiently and thoroughly. You’d be lying if you said that it was hard to do right now, that your stomach wasn’t feeling a bit queasy and your face a bit clammy.

But you did it, only gritting your teeth slightly at the sound of the bodies thumping to the ground.

You are barely six steps from the tree corpses when the sound of an explosion has both you and the three medics you’d been sent off with jumping and reaching for your weapons, eyes searching for the source of the sound in the surrounding trees.

“ _ MEDIC! I NEED A MEDIC HERE! _ ”

The four of you run west, towards the voice screaming for help.

Just inside of the treeline, you all stumble into the smell of heat and blood and burned flesh- the sight of a torn hand along the edge of a grenade blast giving you a sinking feeling that there wasn’t much any of you could do.

As you carefully step towards the center of the blast site, you stop short at the sight of a familiar red braid attached to a bit of exploded skull, every drop of blood painfully freezing in your veins as you process the scene before you.

At least two people are in pieces before you- Dorothy and upon closer expression Doc Edgar. The other medics rush past you, as if they still think they can render aid.

As if there were any bodies to bring back to life.

At the sound of cursing, you look up and see two soldiers shoving a German soldier to his knees. The German shouts and screams what you can only assume are insults before one of the two soldiers silences him with a shot to the back of the head, blood spattering across the legs of your pants and a few specks wetting your cheek.

You can only blink stupidly at the dead soldier before lowering your gaze to look at the remnants of your friend. Stunned wasn’t the right term for how you were feeling. Horrified was close.

_ A numbed heartbreak, maybe. _

“Y/N?”

You turn to look at the medic you’d run over with, Roger. He’s holding his hand out to you, nodding minutely as you start to raise your hand to place it in his.

“C’mon, darlin’,” he says encouragingly, carefully pulling you out of the center of the blast and back in the direction you’d come from. You liked Roger, an older man with silvering blond hair and a sweet southern drawl. You went with him willingly. “Let’s go over here, get a’head start to the trucks, yeah?”

As you sit in the back of the truck, you feel tears stream down your face. You wipe at your nose as your body seems to catch up with your sadness, a few hitching breaths punching your chest as your eyes drift back to the blood staining your pant leg.

Roger, who had seated himself next to you and reached around to pull you into his side and squeeze your shoulder, holds a cigarette out for you.

“That’s okay, hun’,” he says quietly, placing a quick and comforting kiss to the side of your head when you take it. After lighting it for you, he lights his own and takes a drag. “‘S better to let it out as it happens….better not t’hold it in.”

Rather than answer, you take a shallow pull from your cigarette.

The way he said it left no room for misinterpretation.

You had a lot more of this headed your way.

~

By the time you reach Courville, the sun has set and night has fallen once more. It was just shy of 24 hours ago that Dorothy and Dr. Edgar had been watching the bullets glow like fireflies as the Germans shot at the 506th as they descended from the sky. Just shy of 24 hours since you’d been accused of being overly pessimistic.

It felt like a year had passed since then.

You weren’t sure how many wounded soldiers you’d treated that day, but you did know that a majority of them had died. You found yourself thinking of Katherine’s cousin Marcus, unable to stop seeing him in each and every young man who was brought before you in a seemingly never-ending stream of patients. 

You hoped he’d never ended up joining the Navy, hoped that somewhere in the world a nurse just like you wasn’t having to listen to his frantic and wet final screams before ultimately succumbing to whatever unimaginable wound he had received.

The death of Dorothy had left you in the position of head nurse, and already you were sick of constantly delegating and directing the nurses and medics who kept asking where they were needed. Apparently  _ ‘everywhere’ _ wasn’t an acceptable answer.

Neither was ‘ _ pick a body, any body _ ’.

Triage was something you knew how to do, how to handle.  _ Leadership _ was not.

Just when you thought you’d gotten a break, the locals who had sustained injuries were being ushered in, and the whole nightmare began again.

Only this time, neither you nor your patient understood what the other was saying.

You had only bothered to learn German. French was…..well,  _ not German _ .

You’d just wrapped a bandage around a toddler’s slightly scraped calf when you heard one of the other nurses calling for assistance outside. Desperate for fresh air, you gladly left the boarding house and went to help her.

She was struggling with a young woman who looked as if she’d gone rabid, her hair matted and dirty. The woman shrieked and howled like a banshee, kicking her legs out at anyone who got too close. 

“ _ Vous allez bien _ (you’re okay),” you said in what had to be the worst French accent anyone had ever heard, trying to remember the few phrases you’d heard the other medic using with their own difficult patients. “ _ Vous allez  _ **_bien_ ** —”

Wrapping your arms around the woman’s waist, you try and get a grip on the thrashing woman, hoping to keep your fellow nurse from being kicked again.

“ _ Calmer, calmer. Laissez-moi,  _ uh _ , réparer?” _

From the corner of your eye, you see a paratrooper about to head into the boarding house. Walking right past you as if he hadn’t seen you and your nurse struggling.

“ _ Hey _ !” you shout, making sure the man got to see your incredulous glare before continuing. “ _ Hate _ to inconvenience you, but could you  _ come over here _ and—?”

Your vision goes white with pain as the woman in your hold swings her elbow back and cracks you on the nose, your arms immediately letting her go in favor of bringing them to your face as you double over in pain.

“ _ Bitch _ !” you hiss, eyes tearing up as you hear the soldier and the nurse get ahold of her again and move inside. “Mother _ fucker _ , that  _ hurt _ !”

“You good, Y/L/N?” someone shouts from inside the boarding house, one of the medics whose name you can’t seem to remember.

“I’m  _ glorious _ , thanks!”

You know you’re being a jerk, but you’re too preoccupied with the fact that your nose may be broken to feel bad about it. Straightening up, you tilt your head back and hold up your hands, looking for any sign of blood on your fingers.

The fact that you don’t see any is frankly astonishing.

“ _ Fucking  _ **_OW_ ** .”

You’ve found a spot away from the doorway to lean against, blinking the tears out of your eyes and licking at the bit of blood on your lip from where she’d also clipped you in the mouth. The logical part of you knew that the young woman was probably terrified and that, had you been in her situation, you would’ve done the same.

Unfortunately, that part of you is currently being shut out by the pain receptors in your face currently screeching for your attention.

All around you, you can hear the buzzing of voices and the deafening hum of movement- something you hoped you’d soon grow accustomed to because right now you wanted nothing more than to find some way to burst your own eardrums and lose yourself in blissful silence.

You briefly wondered what Dorothy would say if you’d told her as much.

You realized then that her name was another you were going to have to callus your heart to, and with a deep sigh you willed yourself to return to the state of numbness you had found yourself in earlier.

How any of you were expected to be able to sleep after a day like this, you had no idea.

Taking another deep breath you push yourself off of the wall and start walking toward the place where the head doctor had instructed the nurses were to be billeted in, sniffing a few times to try and clear your nasal passages of the reactionary mucus that had gathered there.

You’d only made it a few steps before you thought you heard someone calling your name. Too tired to be responsible, you waved a hand over your head without turning around.

“Find Doc Rog, he’ll know what to do!”

You only made it a few more steps before another name was called out, clear as a bell and sweeter than honey.

“ _ Wendy-bird! _ ”

You stopped short at that, your shoulders going tight as you whipped around quickly enough that a few tight joints along your spine cracked in protest, your braid smacking you in the cheek as your eyes scanned the throngs of people.

Only one person ever called you that. And the chances of it being this person would’ve been one in thirteen thousand….

As if conjured just to defy those odds, Lewis Nixon emerges from the crowds, coming to an abrupt stop the moment his dark eyes met yours.

_ There’s no way. There’s no possible way that of all the companies and soldiers, that he would be here- _

_But he_ ** _fucking_** **_was_** _._

“ _ Blackbeard _ ?!” you shouted, your voice cracking in the middle of the word. The tears you had just managed to swallow back spring forth once more, and you can feel your blood starting to run cold for an entirely different reason than before.

You hadn’t heard his voice in two years.

_ You never thought you’d hear it again. _

As if your words had broken his shock, Lewis begins stalking towards you once again, his face paling beneath the dirt and grime on his skin. Like a magnet, you find yourself starting towards him as well, breaking into a sprint when a light from inside the bunkhouse confirms that yes- it  _ is _ him.

You collide with him so powerfully that he stumbles back a few steps, his arms wrapping around your torso tightly as he brings you with him. His heart is thudding rapidly in his chest- you can feel it as you are squeezed into the embrace further with the addition of your arms coiling around his neck.

“Oh my _God_ , Lew,” you hear yourself babbling into his temple as one of your hands fists into his thick hair. “ _ Oh my God _ —!”

For his part, Lewis is silent. He seems more focused with nosing his face into your throat and fisting the fabric of your jumpsuit in his hands. You can feel his hot breath being panted into your collarbone, his heaving breaths syncing up with your own the longer the two of you embrace.

Using your grip on his hair, you twist his head enough that you can look down at his stunned expression, his cheeks now rosy while his eyes are still wide.

“ _ Are you real? _ ” you mumble, tears slipping freely down your cheeks as you shake your head in wonder. “Is this…. _ how are you—? _ ”

“ _It’s me_ ,” he finally blurts out, eyes scanning your face while he nods up at you. “It’s  _ me… _ ”

A sob burst from somewhere deep in your chest, and you think you’re smiling but honestly, you cannot be sure because it seems as if every emotion you have ever felt in your entire life is hitting you all at once and all you can do is _cry_ and _cup his face_ and _curse_ in disbelief.

“ _I’m sorry I didn’t write_ ,” you say stupidly, your body starting to tremble with all of the adrenaline pulsing through your body. “I-I’m  _ sorry _ I—”

Lewis doesn’t let you finish, lowering you enough in his embrace that he’s able to seal his lips to yours and kiss the air from your lungs.

It’s a short kiss, his mouth leaving yours as he brings one hand up to hold your face while the other is pressed firmly between your shoulder blades- ensuring that there’s barely a hairsbreadth of air between your body and his.

“ _ It’s okay,” _ he says, his voice rough and low as he gives you a teary smile of his own. “Don’t worry about it, it’s  _ okay… _ . _ God _ , I’d forgotten how beautiful you are.”

You bark a laugh at that, your outburst making him chuckle as well before pressing a kiss to your forehead and pulling you back into an embrace. You’ve never felt more exhausted or more outrageously happy in your entire life, the polarity of the conflicting emotions crashing over you like a violent wave.

“ _I missed you_ ,” you whisper against his shoulder.

“ _I missed you more_ ,” he mumbled into your hair.

When you pull back to look at him again, you close your eyes and allow him to rub his thumbs up and down your cheeks.

“Where did they put you?” he’s asking, and when you open your eyes you can see some of the same exhaustion you feel reflected in his own gaze.

Taking a step back, youtube one of his hands in yours and give it a squeeze.

“C’mon,” you say with a half-smile. “ _I’ll show you_.”

When you look back at Lew, he brings your hand up to his mouth and kisses your knuckles soundly. As the two of you walk hand in hand down the street, you almost feel guilty about how completely whole your heart’s feeling.

  
_ Almost _ . 


	3. What is Home (If Not a Person or a Feeling)?

Sleep doesn't claim either of you.

Lewis pulls you against him, his fingers gently combing through your hair rhythmically while you rested your hand over his heart and brushed your thumb up and down regularly. The wooden floor is anything but comfortable, despite the thin blanket of Dorothy’s you’d laid beneath your bodies. But Lew didn’t complain, didn’t hesitate to encourage you into his side before laying his scratchy wool blanket and your only somewhat thicker blanket over your bodies. It was a strange caricature of the way you two used to hold each other- when the sweat would cool on your skin and the steadfast affection you shared would once again calm your lust-sated minds. 

It was so easy. Everything between you just came  _ so easily _ ….

Every so often, one of you would mumble a question to each other- quietly reacquainting yourselves in the darkness.

What was Georgia like?  _ “Hot, disgustingly hot. You would’ve hated it”. _

_ “How long have you been over here?”  _ Five months in England, maybe a month in Normandy?

You’re thankful Lewis is indulging you- you can’t imagine sleeping despite the exhaustion rooted deep into your bones. Whenever you close your eyes for too long, all you can see is the shredded corpse of Dorothy, half of her skull missing and that beautiful,  _ brilliant _ mind of hers splattered across the dirt. 

After years of sleeping in a room with her in it, of hearing her sleepy murmuring and getting accustomed to her obnoxiously chipper whistling at the earliest hours of the day, you probably would’ve been driven mad by the deafening sound of silence.

You didn’t tell Lewis about her death- figuring he’d seen his own share of death and destruction these past few days. It didn’t feel right to make him carry yours as well.

As if sensing the dark path your thoughts have sent themselves down, Lewisquietly says your name and places his hand over yours on his chest. When you hum in reply, you feel him take a deep breath.

“Do you….did you, you know- find anyone?” 

It’s unusual to hear him so awkward, and something about the question makes you feel defensive.

“ _ You mean like a Katherine? _ ”

You can picture the grimace on his face as you pull your hand out from under his, rolling to your other side so your back is to his side now.

“No, I didn’t. Believe it or not, I didn’t go out and marry the first guy to  _ give me the time of day _ upon hearing that married nurses would be allowed to serve—”

“ _ Hey… _ ”

Your eyes sting at the note of concern in Lew’s voice, pressing your lips together as you feel him turn on his side and wrap an arm around your waist. He pulls you easily back against him- his arms having a strength in them that didn’t exist the last time he’d shared your bed. You realized that he probably felt changes in your own body as well, your body having lost some of its youthful softness to the hard labors of triage training.

“Don’t be like that, Y/N- you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

His lips are at your ear, the warmth of his breath making you shiver.

“Oh yeah?” you ask, anger clear in your voice. “You weren’t trying to ask me if I did exactly what  _ you did _ when  _ you _ realized  _ you _ were going to be sent out?”

You grit your teeth at the sound of your own bitterness, feeling guilty for snapping at Lewis when he was  _ just asking _ you a question. Taking a deep breath, you take his hand from where he’d rested it on your stomach and lace your fingers with his.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, turning your head and looking at his profile. “That wasn’t fair- I’m sorry, Lew.”

As he turns his head to look down at you, he uses his hold on you to twist you so you’re laying on your back- flipping your initial configuration. He looks down at you silently, eyes dancing across your face before his lips quirk up on one side. Taking his hand from your stomach, he traces his fingertip across your upper lip, tracing your features carefully as you furrow your brows.

“Lewis,” you say, hand coming up to take his again as he moves back to your lips. You’d known him long enough to know where his thoughts were headed. “You’re  _ married— _ ”

His bark of laughter is rueful, face twisting into a scowl as he bows his head. The action confuses you, but before you can ask anything Lewis lifts his head and gives you a bemused smirk.

“ _ Not for much longer, I’m not. _ ”

You can feel your face pale as he slides a hand beneath the blanket to get a pack of cigarettes from his trouser pocket, shaking his head at some unspoken joke as he sits up and puts one between his lips. When it becomes clear he’s not planning on elaborating any further on the comment, you sit up quickly and snatch the cigarette from his mouth just as he starts to lower his head to light it.

“ _ Lewis Nixon, _ ” you hiss, brows furrowing so hard it’s beginning to make your head ache. “What in the hell does  _ that _ mean?”

Eyes having long ago adjusted to the dark, you can see him wrinkle his nose- something he’s done his entire life upon being pressed to explain himself more than he already had. But you’re too invested in what he’s possibly trying to tell you to find the action endearing in any way.

When he still doesn’t say anything, you sigh and put the cigarette between your own teeth, yanking the lighter from his hand and snapping it open. Upon lighting ut, you nudge your leg against his and whisper his name imploringly.

“ _ Talk _ to me—”

“It was a mistake.”

His sudden interruption somewhat startles you, especially when you hear the acidity in his voice. As he looks up at you again, you take a pull from the cigarette and tilt your head to the side- silently asking him to continue. With a tied look, he reaches out and takes the smoldering cigarette back, considering it for a moment before taking a drag himself.

“I- we just didn’t work. The moment after we got married, she started talking about moving and kids and how she didn’t like ‘my post-war plans’ and whenever I tried to get a word in she would just _ keep going _ .  _ Nothing _ I said was right, everything seemed to set her off and one day she wanted me to touch her, but the next day she wouldn’t and she just said the most  _ hateful _ things about Blanche and my mother and y—”

He cuts himself off, and you are thankful for that. 

He chuckles ruefully again. “Not that I was much better. Guess that’s what happens when you marry someone just to fill a void.”

You close your eyes and sigh deeply, nodding to yourself.

“I’m sorry, Lew. Truly, I am.”

You open your eyes at the feeling of his strong fingers pressing rhythmically on either side of your spine, the blissful pressure on the tight muscles of your middle back pulling a groan from deep within your chest. As you meet his gaze, you are only half startled to see that his face is now closer to yours. Lewis holds the cigarette out to you again, and as you take it from him you catch a glint of affection in his dark eyes.

“ _ I’m not _ .”

You let the words roll around in your head, breathing in the tobacco and letting it seep into your bloodstream like a drop of ink in crystal-clear water. You wish the words didn’t fill you with want, but they did. And despite having trained yourself to learn to live without him, the glimmer of possibility starts filling your mind with dangerous ideas.

“How long have you been divorced?” you ask quietly, watching his gaze flicker to your lips as smoke wafts around your words.

“I….it’s not finalized yet,” Lewis’s voice is low, smoldering like the tip of the cigarette between your fingers. “It’s hard to- we’re settling things over letters, so…..soon. Sooner the better-”

The hand on your back dances up to curl around the nape of your neck, and he abandons his sentence in favor of taking the cigarette back and grinding it out somewhere behind him on the floor. Your thoughts dissipate in a cloud of heady want, your heart beating heavily in your chest as you find yourself cautiously crawling over to straddle his lap. 

“I shouldn’t- this is  _ wrong _ still, isn’t it?”

Your questions met by a soft smile, the hand on your neck pulling you forward so your forehead is lightly resting against his. Lewis, handsome and wicked and all-consuming  _ Lewis _ , wraps his free arm around your waist and holds you steadfast against his hips.

“This isn’t wrong…. _ we’ve never _ been wrong,” he breaths against your lips, his words echoing what you’ve always secretly and shamefully believed to be true. “Y/N, Wendy-bird, beautiful girl….”

His kiss is soft, exploratory- as if he’s reacquainting himself with your mouth after so many years. But you feel greedy, far too greedy to allow him to take his time. Despite knowing that he has always loved you, you cannot help but feel a residual anger towards him for all the hurt and self-loathing he’s put you through.

So you take it out on him.

You bite at his lips and tug at his hair, bowing his head back so you can smash your mouth down on his with as much force as possible. He welcomes it, despite the fact that you know it must hurt.

“Damn you,” you whimper into his mouth as he accepts your rage devotedly. “Damn you, Lewis….”

“Give it to me,” he murmurs, hissing at a particularly cruel pull at his roots. “Come on, Y/N- let me make it right. You’re so beautiful, show me how much it hurts.”

With a silent cry, you shove him down and descend on him.

Neither of you will sleep tonight.


End file.
